


But That's Showbiz, Baby!

by KDblack



Series: they say someone killed the radio star [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Internalized Acephobia, Other, confused ace murder feels, that's not how romance works alastor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 15:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDblack/pseuds/KDblack
Summary: Deep down, sex and violence are the only things we care about.(Alastor, Mimzy, and the nature of desire)
Relationships: Alastor & Mimzy (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: they say someone killed the radio star [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548754
Comments: 15
Kudos: 132





	But That's Showbiz, Baby!

The first on-screen kiss was shown in 1896, and an open-mouth kiss followed thirty years later. I'll admit, I had to cover my eyes in the theatre during both of them. The intimacy of it turned my stomach. As a gesture, kisses are so terribly revealing. Cheeks, forehead, even the hand, letting someone touch their mouth to your skin is an expression of trust so nauseating that I can hardly look at it. When you consider the long history film has with kisses, it's not surprising that I went into radio instead.

Oh, the climate of the time certainly didn't hurt! Roosevelt was shovelling radio down the nation's throats, even in the depths of the Depression. I've heard it ended up being known as the Golden Age of Radio up above. Didn't feel golden back then, let me tell you, but I suppose that folks rarely notice when history is being made. I certainly didn't, but then, I was rather distracted. The whole country was going to hell in a hand basket, and so was I. 

My own darn fault, really. Trying to love someone, knowing what I was? Biggest mistake I ever made. Forgive me if I spare you the details. Mimzy could tell you more, though if you asked her, she'd probably gut you. Dear girl doesn't like thinking about the past – at least, not when it includes me. Can't say that I blame her. There was something broken in me from the start. A crossed wire, a malfunctioning socket, a leaking battery. A hole in my heart, if you will. Whatever it was, it hung over me my whole life, a constant reminder that something in me was lacking. I took no pleasure in kisses. Flinched back from roving hands. She called me a gentleman; I called myself a coward.

Perhaps a better man would have spent his life striving to fill that empty hole with love instead of blood. Married Mimzy, done his best to have children with her, woken up crying in the middle of the night and never quite known why. Sometimes I try to imagine being that man. It never fails to put things in perspective.

I told the story of our first kiss on the air one summer. I spared the audience the gory details, of course, but I did talk a fair bit about feelings. Soft feelings, warm feelings. Cold feelings, sharp feelings. Love, I said, was a very different thing from accomplishment, but nothing beat getting the two twisted together. Particularly not the damp lurch in my gut I felt when our lips met.

That part didn't go on the air. Really, why would it? Nobody needed to know about the clammy tightness of my skin or how I almost shoved her to the floor. The public wanted to hear about goofy laughter and butterflies in stomachs, and that's exactly what I gave them. The cold sweat, the need to get away, the long walk home alone... that can just stay buried. Like her body stayed buried a solid sixty years before they dug it up. I don't know how she was unearthed, but I like to imagine it was during construction. Someone bought up her old bar and turned the basement upside down during renovations, and there she was: still wrapped in rotten sequins, with the marks of my knife on her bones.

She doesn't believe me when I tell her, but I really did like her. That's why I did it. Adrenaline, sadism, anything to get the blood flowing and make me forget how close she was. I held her hand and smiled while the thought of choking her brought a blush to my cheeks. Maybe I was still a little twitchy, a little too out of it when I looked into her eyes, but it worked. It worked too well. Eventually, the fantasy wasn't enough. She was never more beautiful than she was in the moment just before the light drained from her eyes. But perhaps that's just me wearing rose-coloured glasses. You never do forget your first.

I've certainly never forgotten the taste of her meat on my tongue.

After Mimzy, there was no going back. I'd figured out how to make myself desire someone, and well, in for a penny, in for a pound. It was addicting, being able to stare into a person's eyes, touch their face, and feel like they belonged to me. Like I wanted them inside me. 

They'll tell you humans taste like pork, but I always found venison to be a closer comparison. It's not quite the same, but we're in hell, my dear. Nothing will ever be quite the same. 

Why yes, it would be a problem if you shared this information. There's nothing duller than hearing about someone else getting maudlin. But don't fret, darling! 

After all, you won't be telling anyone, will you?

_Will you, my dear?_

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Alastor's ace? Cool, representation.  
Me, 24 hours later: I have no idea how any of this happened, but here.


End file.
